


At The End of My Yarn With You

by hazelandglasz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Fluff and Humor, Knitting, M/M, Perverted Old Ladies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 21:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16879548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: It all started as an anonymous writing meme, where an anon on Tumblr sent me this fake fic title  and I created a blurb of a ficAnd it became this fic because I loved the idea of Derek Hale teaching old besotted ladies (and Stiles) how to knitHope you enjoy!"This could be a Sterek AU, where Stiles looks for something to do on his free time that, 1-is cheap, 2-would help him focus on something else than his thoughtsSo he registers for those knitting lessons (eh, bonus scarves and gloves, right?)Except that the teacher is this big bulk of a guy who constantly frowns at Stiles’ choices of yarn (what, it’s colorful, shut up), but is fucking adorable with the little old ladies (who are totally ogling him, those perverts) and makes the most fluffy scarvesStiles wants to wrap himself in it–possibly naked, with the Big Guy."





	At The End of My Yarn With You

Stiles remembers his mother trying to get him to hold still by putting a ball of yarn in his small hands while she knitted.

Not that it worked particularly well, but a, he loved the feeling and the smell of the yarn between his fingers, and b, it’s something that reminds him of his mom in a fond, “I can smile while thinking about her”, kind of way.

Plus, he needs a hobby that doesn’t involve getting kicked out of the library.

Hence his presence in this Saturday night class of craft.

“Halternate,” whatever that means.

* * *

 

A quick glance around the room shows that Stiles, by his presence alone, gravely lowers the median age of the population attending the class.

And is not enough to balance the gender ratio, either.

Long story short, Stiles is the only young man in the room.

Why do these old ladies need to be taught anything in knitting is beyond him, but he guesses that old grandmothers knitting have to learn somewhere before becoming clichés.

Stiles looks at the needles on the table in front of him and snorts. Nope, no one just wakes up and knows how to use those torture devices.

Right when the clock marks 8pm, the door opens to reveal someone who must be mistaken.

Or, Stiles is the luckiest bastard on Earth.

Because there is no way Mister Tall, Strong shoulders, Soft Scruff and Bulging Muscles is here to knit.

“Welcome everyone, I’m Derek Hale and this is Knitting 101. If you were looking for Krav Maga, it’s with the other Hale of this center and it is down the hall.”

Holy crap, his voice is almost too soft. Stiles is going to die and it will be magnificent.

A little Iranian grandma sighs wistfully as she leaves the room. Stiles doesn’t blame her.

Derek smiles–dear Lord show some mercy–before returning his attention to them. “For the rest of you who picked knitting as your hobby, we will all try to knit something useful by the end of this class cycle. You can pick your patterns here,” he adds, pointing at the folder on his desk, “and your yarn here.”

How Stiles didn’t notice the massive basket of yarn balls until now is beyond his comprehension, but he spotted a green and yellow mix yarn that he must get his hands on–literally. He wants to knit himself a pair of Iron Fist mittens.

As he gets in line, Stiles is  _pretty_  sure the Cruella de Vile’s look-a-like pinched his ass, but he has no proof and he is maybe a tiny bit afraid to glare at her.

The grandmas coo over their teacher, taking their sweet time to pick up a pattern and reaching for his biceps “oh do you think I can do that”.

Cougars, all of them. Stiles understands the appeal of the class a lot better now.

Not blaming them, though.

When it is his turn, he tries to smile at Derek Too Hot Hot Damn but he’s pretty sure it looks like Mowgli’s grimace. The only thought he manages to process when he picks up the mitten pattern and walks in front of Derek is “we’re the same height, huh.”

“Excuse me?”

So maybe the thought didn’t go just through his head.

“Just making a casual observation, big guy,” Stiles says with a smile and a light pat to Derek’s cement shoulder ( _god_ damn).

Derek glances at the spot Stiles touched looking bewildered. “Uh-huh.”

“High five for masculine solidarity?”

Derek looks at his offered hand, back at Stiles’ face, back at his hand and glares.

With a profound distaste. “Is that your real name?” he says instead, arms firmly crossed over his even firmer chest.

Stiles looks down at the label on his chest and grins. “My real one wouldn’t fit in the label and you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.”

Cruella De Ville bumps into him to make him forward. This time, Stiles does glare at her. She doesn’t seem very impressed, but quickly turns on the charm on Derek.

As he picks the green and yellow yarn, Stiles would swear he catches Derek hiding a crooked smile.

That, or their instructor just hid a fart.

Both options seem as likely.

#

After a month of lessons, Stiles is fairly sure he has found a place that is at the perfect equidistance between Heaven and Hell.

For such a big guy, Derek is, for lack of a better word, incredibly gentle at his job.

The way he handles the yarn over the needles could make the angels turn into sinners, but the scarf he seemingly makes appear!

It’s the fluffiest [scarf ](https://intheloopknitting.com/images/patterns/Mad_for_Plaid_snood_11_medium2-e1501035909747.jpg)to ever fluff, long and large  _and Stiles don’t go there oops already there not going anywhere_.

Derek even shows them how to make the pompoms and Stiles does make smaller versions of it for his mittens, but that scarf …

Stiles would do a lot of things to wrap it around his neck.

It looks so soft–oh, it must feels amazing.

Speaking of things that would feel amazing, Stiles is having quite the collection of hypothetical situations that would lead to Derek’s gentle fingers caressing Stiles’ skin.

Possibly under a pile of knitted fluffiness.

“Now, to cast off properly,” Derek says, voice a bit louder for the ladies in the back of the room, “you need to leave at least 6 inches of yarn.”

“I’m more of a 9 inches gal myself,” Elena mutters not so subtly from behind Stiles, her girlfriends snickering like schoolgirls.

Those perverts.

Stiles hopes he grows to be like them when he is their age.

“Very good, Stiles.”

Stiles nearly jumps out of his skin, nearly stabbing Derek in the cheek with his needles in his shock at hearing him so close without a warning. “Ah!”

More snickering from behind him, but all Stiles can focus on is Derek’s hand on his shoulder and how warm it is  _and how amazing it would feel on Stiles’ bare skin under that knitted blanket, with possibly a fire in the fireplace and lots of lotion …_

“I’m so sorry I scared you,” Derek says, though there is the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth that belies the apology.

What an asshole.

Stiles loves him.

 _Oh shit_.

“You were saying?” Stiles says, willing his voice to keep steady as his whole world is turned on its head.

Derek nods. “I was complimenting you on your stitching,” he says softly. “You obviously have great fingers.”

Stiles doesn’t need the scarf or anything to keep warm, thank you very much, you could probably fry an egg on his face.

Belinda and Dominique wolf-whistle on his left and Derek …

Derek  _blushes_.

Good Lord it is adorable and Stiles is going to die and it will be marvelous.

“I mean,” Derek stutters, straightening up, “you’re very talented. With your fingers. Your hands! For knitting!”

Stiles doesn’t need to look around to know that all the old ladies are watching them like their favorite telenovella. He’s pretty sure one of them has a bag of popcorn under all that yarn.

Derek looks a word away from simply vaulting himself through the room’s window, so Stiles decided to be generous and cut him some slack.

“Thank you, Derek.” Or maybe not. “Maybe I could show you that fingering talent in a more private setting?”

Go big or go home, and Stiles would love nothing more than to go home with this big guy.

Derek’s blush turns into a charming burgundy hue but he takes a deep breath and controls himself to smirk at Stiles properly. “Are you asking for private lessons, Mr. Stilinski?”

Stiles looks at him, and very deliberately, pulls on the thread he was about to tie to finish his mittens. “I obviously need all the help I can get, clumsy old me.”

“Obviously,” Derek sreplies, the smirk turning into a grin. “Let’s see what I can do to fix your clumsiness.”

He moves on to Elena, but not without throwing a wink over his shoulder at Stiles.

Stiles watches him go and  _bend over, what an asshole_ , with a besotted smile on his face when he feels someone pulling on his sleeve. On his left, May Wong is beaming at him. “Well done, my boy,” she whispers, patting his forearm before returning to her … [something](https://i.etsystatic.com/8102490/r/il/f1b807/1352527878/il_570xN.1352527878_mrqg.jpg), Stiles doesn’t really want to know what it is and who is going to wear it.

After all, he muses as he repairs what he has done to his mittens, he has a hot date to plan.

(As it turns out, Derek’s hands are even softer than the yarn used to make the pompoms.

And Stiles now has a Pavlovian boner to said pompoms.)

(Not that he minds. He has a fluffy scarf, bitching mittens, and a hot, hot boyfriend.)


End file.
